Chapter 13

It was nearly impossible to distinguish between them now. Long departed was the impetuous boy who drew blades first and inquired later. He had been replaced by a man with some remnants of youth's impatience, but had adopted a stoical nature that was honest but shrewd. Will Turner, to Jack, was becoming ever his father's son. It was evident in the brittle way in which he steeled himself against the baron's biting remarks, in the manner in which he stringently locked the bars of the brig. The defiant boy who had cast his sword away and stood for his honor had become a man of similar distinction, and Jack found that he respected him.

But when Jack caught Will's eyes, he was met with hard pools of distrust and uncertainty, and then was pushed roughly aside as the blacksmith tramped up the rickety steps onto the deck.

"I don't affect to be ignorant, Mr. Turner."

Will turned swiftly. "It is as if the whole of the Spanish Main knows of my father's past, save me, his only son." He drew a shaky breath; "I won't be an unwitting witness anymore, Jack."

"Aye." Jack sighed, perceiving the impending conversation to be a long time in coming. He took a step backwards into the dim belly of the Pearl. "Come on, then. Have a drink."

To Jack's surprise, Will followed him silently, and took the mug of rum offered him, but swilled it untouched in his hands as he sat at a low table in the galley. Jack took the seat opposite him heavily, his uneven mustache twitching as he took a great draught.

"I met your father when he was a young merchant-turned-privateer. His head was filled with flighty ideals about good n' evil, much like yours I'll wager." He grinned roguishly and wiped his mouth on a filthy sleeve. "At that time your father was workin' for the crown, and he reported his acquirements to a lord named Montefiore."

Will's expression was one of disbelief. He opened his mouth but Jack shushed him with a drunken wave. "Aye, lad." He took a deep drink and set the tankard down noisily.

"In those days I wasn't the sea-savvy scoundrel sittin' before you. I was reckless and your father caught me terrorizing merchants out in the North Sea." He leaned back in his chair and propped his rather rank boots upon the table. "He was takin' me back to England when me devilish charm and wit got the better of him. He became me friend. He didn't like to take me in, but he made it to London harbor, anyway. Things turned rough."

Will stared into the deep amber depths of the rum; he was struggling to believe that his family and Elizabeth's had been so intertwined, and yet their worlds seemed so far removed from the other. It was a strange paradox and he could not make sense of it.

"Your father's ship was fired upon," Jack drawled, shaking Will from his reverie, "Officers called out to his ship as he held them off. He was under arrest for takin' too large a percentage of the spoils from his gains, and it made him an enemy of the crown."

Will started, but again Jack held him in check. "Your father wasn't a pirate then, boy."

Jack removed his boots from the table and leaned forward. "Bill kept a neat record of every transfer of seizure to his employer. The only explanation was that the honorable Montefiore was keepin' the money for hisself." He leaned back again with a distasteful expression on his dark features. "'Twas easy to blame a poor roustabout. Bill was cornered closer n' a rat dog. But, we managed to get outta there, and hid out among the Dutch merchants in Africa for a time. By then we both knew Bill was better off followin' me route."

Elizabeth awoke abruptly, disoriented. It had taken hours for sleep to claim her; having grown used to the lull of the ocean's waves. The room about her was frighteningly unfamiliar, with strong moonlight pouring in the tall window, and noble, though unadorned, furniture neatly arranged around a spacious four-poster. She sat up and pushed the lace bed hangings aside, her feet coming to rest on cool boards.

She shut out the light with heavy eyelids and cold hands and struggled to make sense of her surroundings. The images in her head pulsed and flitted like a devious will-o'-the-wisp, fantasy and reality fusing to form an impossible mass to interpret. As the dreams diffused into her subconscious, the memories of the previous day assembled slowly. She slept in the room given her by Aunt Catherine... She was in London, England, specifically, and she was cold.

Lifting her head, she reached for the dressing gown laid over the armchair by the night table and pulled it over her shivering shoulders. The fire in the grate had fallen to embers, and only a few sticks rested in the tinderbox. She padded silently to the hearth and built up a small, steady glow, then lit the lamp and settled with a sigh into a plush chair.

Whilst she collected and recognized her surroundings, the matter of the dreams that had been occurring lately surfaced in her mind.

There were always two. When she was most upset or angry she dreamt of Will. Visions of their battles together aboard the Pearl haunted his image, and as he would reach out to touch her, he would disappear into a wisp of smoke, and she would find herself surrounded by darkness and the sound of the sea. The sea would undulate into confusing patterns; hollow skull eyes would drift gloomily around her shapeless form. Then skeletal hands gripped her skin.

The other dream was mistier, the images larger, viewed from the eyes of a child. Elizabeth recognized the fuzzy recollections of the glamorous lives of her parents when she was small and peered down at dinner parties and balls from behind stair rails, her imagined cage. Her mother wore varying shades of rose, peach, and golden tones that swirled about her gaily. Her father was much younger, and the only lines on his face were those from smiles.

As her thin, childlike body rocked on the stairs, a tall figure emerged from the crowd of swirling colors, dark hair pulled back, but his face blurred and the only thing that could be recognized about him was an aura of curiosity. His hand extended to the child Elizabeth, and just as their fingers touched, Elizabeth would awaken.

As she curled in the chair with midnight moon silvering the darkness, she tried to discern messages from the dreams. The tall man seemed to be separate from the memory: a figure from Elizabeth's psyche fused with fact. She could not place any particular face on him—not even Will's.

The other dream disturbed her to dwell on it. She supposed it merely epitomized her fears for Will and their future. She could only pray that it did not foretell death to anyone embroiled in her and her lover's twisted fates.

As she opened her eyes, she found them heavy, and they flickered slowly to the bed that suddenly seemed inviting. She was exhausted in body and mind, and knew now that sleep would bring peace, if only for the remainder of the night. It would have to suffice.

The loot acquired from the Aquitaine Jewel was considerable. The food found in her pantries was of excellent quality, and even the sheets from the luxurious feather bed would fetch a handsome price. The baron's ration of 'pocket' money was ridiculous; besides what Jack had forced out of him, Montefiore still had a modest chest of gleaming gold crowns tucked into a false drawer below his bed. Will was amazed that Jack even knew to look for such an unassuming recess.

"You'll find with men of Montefiore's station that they sleep with a knife beneath their pillow and their wealth below their heart." Jack quipped as he transferred the chest to Will, who was surprised at its ample weight. Jack busily began stripping the bed of its silken linens. On the mirrored vanity lay a velvet-lined box of rings and cuff links, and in another box lay a spare powdered wig. Jack tossed this box to the floor, and tucked the case of jewelry under his arm. Jack moved to exit the room.

"You have not checked the wardrobe." Will interjected.

"There's naught of any value to be found in there. Besides, I'm the captain, I take what I want, and leave what's left to me men."
"I thought your code demanded an equal allotment of plunder."

Jack stepped back and raised his index finger to his lips, then turned abruptly and tucked the linens and jewelry case beneath his rather voluminous but shabby jacket. Despite his disapproval, Will could not help but grin as he followed the captain out onto the deck.

Out in the air, the deck was in chaos. The sails lay in heaps over coiled rope, the hatch doors were thrown wide open, and barrels of goods were being rolled out from below.

"You shall have a rousing time striving to spend this lot in London." Will jokingly remarked.

Jack did not turn to face him, and Will thought the lack of waggish retort peculiar.

"Jack?"

"'Tis a glorious day for the Lord, Miss Elizabeth!" the chambermaid chirped as she flung the heavy curtains aside.

Elizabeth, who had the glorious daylight penetrating her weary eyelids, found the day anything but. She rolled over and buried her head beneath a frilled pillow and let forth an unladylike groan.

The maid moved to tend the fire, and Abigail emerged from the wardrobe. She clutched a Sunday frock that was—of course—black. Elizabeth had come to loathe the color. She pulled the coverlet over her head defiantly.

"I've no time for theatrics this morn, Miss Swann. The carriage leaves at half past the hour, and Lady White expects you swallow a respectable breakfast." Abigail coolly peeled back the coverlet and laid the gown over the teak-and-silk screen, which was the only item of the room Elizabeth had brought from her home in Port Royal. It had belonged to her mother, and had birds of paradise and lotus blossoms embroidered delicately on a pale blue field. The teak was highly varnished and smelled faintly of cinnamon.

Elizabeth sat up begrudgingly and ran a hand through her tousled hair. She stood and crossed the cold floorboards and sat before a rather unappetizing bowl of porridge. A cup of tea near it smelled more inviting, and she sipped this as she pretended to read the hymnal placed beside her meal. The maid and Abigail had struck up a conversation, and Elizabeth felt it a more engaging distraction.

"I gather Madame intends to burden us with this young lord's visit. Twenty ducks I hear to be plucked."

A young lord? Elizabeth's stomach flooded with ice; she caught herself short of gagging on her tea.

"Madame had better watch herself. She's a mind to be frivolous, the family's in mourning for a fair time more."

"Aye, but, Madame despairs over the young lady's trousseau. She does not wish for her own daughter to be overlooked. The seamstress was told to purchase a bolt of ecru voile and all manner of ridiculous ribbons and lace just last week."

"Madame is also arranging for a new gown of bombazine for the young mistress. Things shan't be calm around here in the coming days."

Elizabeth exaggerated putting down the hymnal and teacup, and the other women looked in her direction. Abigail bustled over with a false smile pasted on her thin lips. "Come along, Miss Swann. The Lord and Lady are eager to see you join their congregation."

"You mean, we are not to sail for England!" Will shouted as he followed a rather compunctious Jack Sparrow into the captain's quarters. "Perhaps you misunderstand my desperation to arrive there in haste?" His hand went to the hilt of his sword instinctively, but he did not draw it.

Jack suddenly rounded upon him. "Firstly, Mr. Turner, your desperation ranks very low on me slate of priorities."

Will resisted the urge to offer a puerile scowl.

"Second, I'd cut off me own hand 'fore I sail into civilized waters with this cargo. Third," He grinned and stroked his mustache, "That little boat is too fine a' thing to just leave as driftwood. I aim to haul it to Nassau."

"Nassau?" Will sighed crossly.

"Aye, the best place to retire after a bounteous harvest such as this—" He made a sweeping movement with a filthy hand—"and an admirable port for repairs."
"How long do you aim to 'retire' there, Captain?"

"Oh, until I've had me fill of dry land... N' rum, 'course." Jack replied airily. He removed the chest from his coat and shook it with a whimsical expression.

"Sailing to Nassau would require turning round. We are near the middle of the ocean, Jack!" Will fumed.

Jack shrugged. He replaced the chest and glanced at Will. "Don't fret, William. I trust

Miss Elizabeth will still be waitin' fore you." He ushered Will from the cabin.

"One thing, Jack; your grasp of trust is far colored from the norm." Will muttered as he hauled himself up the nearest rigging. The ropes surged beneath his feet and hands as he ascended, and thus he glanced out to sea as he steadied himself. It was becoming increasingly obvious to him that if he were to ever see Elizabeth again, and preferably before she became the prize of some contemptuous aristocrat, that he would have to cease relying on Jack Sparrow's feeble promises.

Elizabeth tried not to be daunted by the size of the cathedral and the crowd milling into it. She observed anxiously from the carriage window, painfully aware of her sweaty palms. She shifted the hymnal from one hand to the other and toyed with the strings of the sable bonnet arranged over her curls. Annie and her mother chatted softly on the seat beside her, and Lord White sat sleepily opposite her. Outside Elizabeth could hear the snorts and clatter of the horses. As Elizabeth bit down on one of the strings, she felt Catherine pat her arm reassuringly.

"Ready, Dear?" She murmured.

Elizabeth merely nodded and rose to her feet as a plump groom held the coach door open. She ignored his offered hand and stepped onto the cobblestones unaided; she feigned mild disinterest, but glanced around at the multitudes with trepidation. As the White family joined her, heads turned in her direction. Lord White took his wife's arm and joined the throng streaming past the cathedral's magnificent doors. Annie turned her kind blue eyes on her cousin, and Elizabeth grudgingly followed. She had no pretenses about attending worship—having been a regular at the small chapel in Port Royal--but the thought of having to personally greet each and every one of these modish Londoners left an acrid taste in her mouth.

As they entered and strode past the pews, Elizabeth observed that the poorest of the assembly took their seats in the back, and that Lord White was leading them to a pew near the front. She vaguely remembered her father procuring the front bench in the chapel on Port Royal, and understood that here, too, even worship was not exempt from social stratum.

Once they took their seats, Catherine busied herself introducing Elizabeth to every lord and lady within length, and Elizabeth procured the unpleasant notion that she would be expected to regurgitate each noble's name upon command very soon.

"... Lady Ashley and her sons, hello Jerry, and you, Colin." Catherine said loudly, aware that her niece imparted little attention. Elizabeth snapped out of her fixed stare and allowed the young boys in the forward pew to kiss her hand. "Lady Ashley will be joining us soon for a luncheon." Catherine informed.

"Do you enjoy spades?" Elizabeth addressed the boys.

The younger child's brow furrowed, but the elder spoke up, "Father does not allow us to play card games." He granted her a serious expression.

Elizabeth, feeling foolish, barely managed a soft "Oh."

"Jerry and Colin have lessons that day." Catherine covered swiftly.

The opening strains of a hymn were emanating from the lectern, and as the congregation quieted and settled in for the lengthy service, Elizabeth forced herself to resist burying her forehead in her hands.

"All I ask is a skeleton crew, the fewest number of men you can spare." Will pleaded, following Jack as the pirate captain picked his way through a myriad of wine caskets. Will supposed he should have known better than to attempt to distract Sparrow when loot was at hand, but he also knew that once the pirate's intent solidified, it rarely softened. Then, Will's mind shifted like the gears of a clock. He hurried after Jack.

"You've captured a Lord, Jack! Do you not expect that England will have every privateer in the Atlantic after you?" Will demanded.

Jack's expression remained unaltered as he hunched over to check the dates on the wine caskets. "Fifteen-eighty." Jack murmured hoarsely, turning the casket over in wonder. But he had determinedly avoided Will's question.

"Towing his ship will slow you down, make you an easier target. Allow me to take the Jewel, that way, any soul coming round to investigate shan't know which ship you took." Will leaned in expectantly, knowing he'd at last tethered Jack into his reasoning.

"Mr. Gibbs!" Jack shouted crossly, heaving the wine over his shoulder, "See me in me cabin, NOW!"

For days, Elizabeth endured endless dress fittings, constant chatter from Abigail and the maids on menus and musicians, and, worst of all, sly remarks from Catherine about the grand manner of gentlemen whom might soon be requesting Elizabeth's calling card from Lord White. Elizabeth would scowl at these proposals and reply that she had no calling cards, and, if she had, would not have given them to any of London's spoiled polo brats.

Eventually, though, the eve of the banquet arrived with brightly-lit candles, mercilessly polished silverware, and ridiculous gowns that rustled and caught on things everywhere. Elizabeth wryly thought that her gown, though black, was inappropriate for a girl in mourning. The neckline was audaciously low-cut, and the hoop skirt flared out demurely from a triangular-cut waist that accentuated her hips. Annie's gown was done in a similar fashion, albeit in a pale spring green. It took a great deal of Abigail's scolding to wrestle Elizabeth into that dress, but it could not keep the guest of honor from sulking for a good measure of the evening.

One of the young gentlemen, Elizabeth noticed halfway through the soup course, seemed to notice her discomfort, and his eyes twinkled in mirth. He was, Elizabeth discovered after inquiring uninterestedly of Annie, John Brougham, an upstanding man of London, a member of the racing club, and an avid shooter. He held several investments in shipping companies, and was moderately wealthy by his own means.

Elizabeth wondered, then, why he, a commoner, sported the most expensive jacket and diamond buttons in a room of Lord's sons. Because, Annie informed mysteriously, he had a secret benefactor.

Elizabeth ceased her query then, and studied the gentleman through lowered lashes, feigning disinterest. He, however, never moved his staid dark eyes from her chair.

Elizabeth looked up when her uncle finished a hearty chortle and clapped his gloved hands merrily. "My friends. I have been granted the pleasure of introducing one Miss Elizabeth Swann to your company, newly arrived from the Caribbean colony."

The guests nodded politely in her direction, murmuring pleasant salutations.

"Lady White and I are delighted to have her in our home, though, I know," His face grew solemn, "She still yearns for her late father."

Elizabeth looked down, determined not to reveal emotion.

"A toast in Weatherby Swann's memory, and to consoling his grieving child." Lord White raised his glass. The guests followed suit, all taking light sips of their wine. Elizabeth noticed that John Brougham held his glass to her the longest, and took a lengthy drought before placing his glass before him. He studied her features, forcing her to look away again.

At the conclusion of the evening, the young gentlemen took their time filing past the cluster of ladies who stood blushing in a corner of the drawing room. Many a handsome lad tipped his hat to Elizabeth, who met their toothy smiles with a face that was beautiful, but cold and rigid as a tombstone. Their smiles would falter and fade--all but the enigmatic Jack Brougham. He alone had to pluck to extend a calling card to Elizabeth, offer a deep bow, even kiss her stiff hand! Elizabeth watched him through the window of the drawing room as a tall black stallion was brought for him, and as he trotted away down London's darkened streets. She doubted she'd seen the last of him.

Will stood, at last, with hands running down the length of the Jewel's helm, his crew of seven men scurrying about the vessel's deck as it prepared to jettison from the Pearl's side. Jack had at last conceded a skeleton crew to man the schooner, after stripping her completely of valuables, of course. He had set his bearings for Nassau, and had granted Will a few begrudging words of advice about captaining a ship into civilized waters. Will had taken the advice distractedly. He was fervent to be on his way.

"Now you listen here, young Turner." Jack said sharply before Will swung down the ladder onto the dingy that was to transfer the crew to the Jewel, "Keep your head on the Atlantic. She's a beast of an ocean. But I imagine," He grinned. "that you worry about what you'll say to your lady after abandoning her for so long." Will did not reply. He was already clambering onto the deck of the ship that would take him, finally, to Elizabeth.